


when the world has dealt its cards

by bismuthBallistics



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bitters/Palomo only if you squint, Discussion of Authority Abuse, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismuthBallistics/pseuds/bismuthBallistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in a rebel army’s gonna be worth it in the end. That doesn’t mean Bitters or anyone else has to be totally fucking miserable in the meantime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the world has dealt its cards

None of them are drafted — drafting doesn’t work too well in a civil war — but they still manage to end up on the same side together.

***

Bitters gives the faces around him a quick onceover. He doesn’t expect to recognize any of them, and he’s right. It’s just a row of strangers who thought they had the same good idea as he did, to run off and join a losing army of rebel fighters. 

No, wait. On the end. There’s one he recognizes. Bitters knows Palomo, the skinny gap-toothed eight-year-old who ran fastest on the playground and once tried to give a book report on the migratory habits of luna moths. Weird-ass kid, he was. They weren’t friends back then and they’re not friends now, but it’s a little comforting to see at least one familiar face in the lineup of cadets. Bitters smiles. At least he’s not the only person from Tugby who thought the Feds were a bad idea.

Bitters doesn’t think about Palomo too much after that, except for how the drill sergeant snaps at him for trying to shake hands. Palomo flinches and apologizes with earnest eyes and a wide, submissive smile, and Bitters rolls his eyes. If he keeps acting like that, that kid’s gonna get eaten alive.

After they meet the sergeant the cadets are brought to the shooting range. They have to train to hit targets at twenty meters from standing position, right off the bat. One kid whines about how he can’t expect that of the recruits when none of them have ever shot a gun before.

The sergeant gives him five laps around the compound.

At the other end of the range, a guy a foot taller than Bitters empties a clip into a target fifty meters away. He’s probably got a good eighty pounds on Bitters, and his biceps look like they could be used as cannonballs. Maybe that’s what being a soldier does to you.

When the guy’s target is full of holes and Bitters is still waiting to get his hands on one of the practice rifles, the guy turns to leave the building. Bitters watches him out of the corner of his eye as he makes for the door. He’s got scars on his hands and what looks like a healing burn on his chin, and his brown eyes are flat as he looks at the new recruits. The guy looks over at Bitters and their eyes lock. Bitters keeps his gaze even because he’s not a fucking baby, he’s a soldier, and the guy snorts like Bitters’ thoughts show in his eyes.

"Hey, Bitters!"

Bitters just about jumps out of his skin as a cheerful voice from behind him fills his ears. “Jesus Christ, Palomo. What the fuck?”

"I was just wondering how you’ve been! We haven’t talked in a while. Not since, um, eighth grade, I think, and the thing with that lunchbox full of bees!" Palomo grins at him and yep, there’s the stupid fucking gap in his smile from when he banged his teeth on the swingset. Why the fuck didn’t he get that fixed?

 _We never talked, dipshit_ , Bitters wants to say, but more than that he wants Palomo out of his personal bubble. He takes a step away from the clingy cheery _kid_ , turning to face him so he can see Palomo properly. “I’ve been, you know, doing okay. A little less sleep than I’d like lately, a lot of stuff going on and, oh, yeah, we’re in the middle of a  _fucking civil war_.” Bitters flashes back to Palomo as a second grader, answering every rhetorical question the teachers asked literally, and clarifies. “So to sum it up, I’m kind of fucking sucky right now.”

"Oh. Right." Palomo’s face falls. "I just thought, maybe…"

He trails off like he wants Bitters to finish his sentence, and Bitters groans. “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

"Right. Okay."

Bitters grunts at him in utter disdain and pushes to the front so he can get his fucking practice rifle already.

***

About a week later, Bitters is walking past the girls’ bunks when he hears a high-pitched, “ _Ow, ow, ow._ " He stops, looks around, and kicks at the dirt of the cave. When the source of the voice doesn’t make itself immediately obvious, Bitters decides whoever it is, they’re probably not dying, and starts to walk on.

Then the whining starts up again. Bitters hisses out a breath through his teeth and goes to knock on the door, his feet crunching on the gravel.

He jiggles his foot twitchily as he waits for the door to open, wondering to himself why he’s doing this, exactly. Bitters has way better things he could be doing with his limited free time, like practice marksmanship or talk to the other assholes in his squad. They’re sort of interesting. Kind of. They’re fun to laugh at, anyway.

A girl (surprise, surprise) still dressed in her pjs answers the door to the girls’ bunks, and Bitters doesn’t say anything for a minute because he’s a little busy taking in the rat’s nest that is her hair. There are chunks that stick out and knots that look dented, little clumps of hair on top of her head and a hairbrush that’s hanging there of its own accord, sticking out at a forty-five degree angle. It’s almost impressive.

"Hi!" The girl says, smiling when Bitters finally fixes his deadpan gaze on her. "Um, what’s going on?"

Bitters very pointedly wipes the spit off his cheek from where she’s lisped a little too hard, because he’s kind of an ass like that sometimes. Her smile drops. Poor kid. But seriously, who fucking joins up when they’re still in braces? “I thought I’d check this place out. Sounded like someone was torturing cats, so I figured maybe there was someone in this compound I’d wanna be friends with.” He smirks at her. “But I guess not.”

The chick wrinkles her nose and makes a face at him. “I was brushing my hair, jerkface.”

"Hairbrush, yeah, I can see that. The hair… looks a little more like it’s trying to eat you."

"Whatever." Her dark cheeks darken further, and she pulls irritatedly at the brush. "Sorry if I bothered you or something, butthead."

He blinks at her in utter surprise. Butthead?  _Really?_  Bitters is so taken aback by the way she hasn’t cursed him out yet — a rarity in this fucking cavern they call a base — that he doesn’t say anything until she huffs out a goodbye and turns to shut the door in his face.

Bitters isn’t really sure why he says it. The chick’s not even that pretty or anything. And even if she was mega-hot, the set of her shoulders and her dorky fucking glasses remind Bitters  _way_  too much of his kid brother. Bitters left Jake back in Tugby with their parents. They’re still fans of the Feds back at home. It’s fine. Jake’s not old enough to ditch town and join the dinky rebel army, anyway. But this girl’s gotta be — she looks younger than she probably is, like she’s sixteen or some shit, but she’s here. She’s fighting for this, for the New Republic. Same as him.

"Hey, um." The words tumble out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying, and she stops to peek back over her shoulder at him. "You want me to — You need help brushing your hair, or something?"

She turns to face him, tripping over the hems of her pajama pants a little, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his face heats up. God, he’s an idiot. “I mean — shit, dude, I don’t give a fuck. It was fucking stupid anyway. Whatever.”

The girl rolls her eyes at him and grins, pushing the door further open for him. “Pleased to meet you! I’m Cadet Jensen. And, uh, if you can get the hairbrush out, I want braids.”

***

Bitters scoffs, watching Palomo trip along the grass with an eager smile, trying to keep up with two of the cadets. They’re making a point of speeding up a bit every time he gets near them. Palomo’s covered in dirt and sweat, with grass stains all over his clothes from getting the crap kicked out of him in hand to hand training.

All in all, it’s a pretty pathetic picture. Bitters kind of wants to tell him to stop trying so hard. And to take a shower. But he can’t quite bring himself to.

Instead Bitters turns away and goes to meet Jensen outside the mess hall. She’s promised to teach him about engines. Even if she’s not a great driver, Jensen’s a pretty awesome mechanic.

***

So Jensen is his first actual friend in the compound. Palomo has stopped bugging him lately — probably found newer, cooler people to weird out. Whatever. Bitters doesn’t actually miss him, persay; it’s just good to know that there are people from home who think the Feds are bad news. That it’s not just Bitters being a rebellious dick again.

As friends go, Bitters is pretty sure that hanging out with the overenthusiastic lisper who almost ran over three people is not going to win him any new ones. But there are worse people. Jensen’s pretty cool, if you overlook her being a total nerd who hates sharing her breakfast. And one friend is still way better than zero, in Bitters’ book. Can’t count your blessings, and all that shit.

Bitters stabs across the table at a chunk of crappy sausage with his fork. He likes to think of himself as an optimist, but it’s more like he’s an opportunist. If Jensen is too busy talking to the guy built like a brick shithouse at the table behind them, she’s gonna run out of breakfast. That is the way of the world.

"He’s kind of a jerk," Jensen says, turned in her seat to a degree that should be spinally impossible. "He almost made Miller cry during leg exercises yesterday."

"Sergeant Clark is a capable leader," Jensen’s new friend says with a frown. "… But I will agree that he could communicate better with his soldiers."

And that’s kind of where Bitters has to step in, because he was in Miller’s group for leg exercises yesterday. “That guy? Fuck him, he’s a douche.” Jensen turns back to him, stealing a glance at her plate and furrowing her eyebrows at him when she notes the lack of sausage. Behind her, Brick Wall refocuses on Bitters, his blue eyes piercingly cold. “What? It’s true.”

"You shouldn’t talk that way about a CO," Jensen’s new bestie says, rolling his silverware anxiously in his rough hands.

Bitters rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and COs shouldn’t send cadets into panic attacks because they’re starting their squat sits on the left side instead of the right. There’s wanting to organize people and then there’s being a hardcore dick.”

"See?" Jensen drains her glass of water. "I told you, he’s super mean."

"That’s…" The other guy purses his lips. "Hm."

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." Bitters reaches for Jensen’s plate again and she bats him on the hand.

"But — I don’t approve of Clark’s methods, exactly, but we’ll probably experience worse in the field? This could just be his way of prepping us." New BFF offers Jensen his plate, like a  _gentleman_ , and Bitters narrows his eyes. She shakes her head and McMuscles shrugs, setting it down on their table as he gets up to move over.

Bitters shakes his head and reaches across the table for the new guy’s toast. “Prepping us, sure. We’re gonna see some fucked up stuff. But over squat sits, seriously? I didn’t sign on so douchebags could get off on making people cry.”

The guy bites his lip and Bitters presses his advantage, because Sargeant Clark’s been on his case and his specifically about nose piercings since day one. Guy’s a dick and a fucking hypocrite. “C’mon, he’s gotta have run your training at least a couple times. Clark picks, like, one or two people and they’re the only ones he ever calls out for shit. Pay attention some time.”

“… I’ll do that.” McMuscles says as Bitters crunches down on his toast. “Thanks for bringing my attention to it.”

“Uh-huh. Glad I could help or whatever,” Bitters says, spraying crumbs at the two of them across the table.

***

Bitters stares at the underside of the top bunk, gritting his teeth and wishing that Palomo would just  _shut up_. The guy’s been making tiny noises of pain every time he shifts for the past two hours, and while everyone else had passed out before Palomo got back from laps, Bitters was fortunate enough to be blessed with the inability to make his brain shut the fuck up and go to sleep.

Palomo whines from two beds down the row and Bitters pulls his pillow up over his ears. This is why you don’t talk in front of the COs, especially if you’re a dipshit who responds to heavy sarcasm with confusion. Clark had given Palomo fifty laps of the entire cave for responding to “Were you dropped on your head as a baby, cadet?” with, “Um, I don’t know… I don’t really remember back that far.”

Bitters is really having a hard time thinking of a person he wants to punch in the face more than Clark right now.

There’s another tiny squeak and Bitters groans and sits up, rolling off the bed. He yanks his pillow with him as he walks over to Palomo’s bunk and smacks him with it. “Hey. Palomo.”

"Whazzup?" Palomo mumbles, blinking confusedly up at Bitters through the darkness. At least one of them was getting close to sleep.

Bitters drops the thin pillow on the bed and shoves it under Palomo’s legs. It’s not good, but it’s good enough. “Gimme your pillow.”

"Whyyyy." Palomo whines, trying to roll over and bury his face in his pillow. Bitters yanks it out from under him and starts shoving that one on top of the first one.

"Putting your legs up drains out all the shit that makes your muscles hurt," Bitters says as he pulls Palomo’s feet up so his legs will sit on the pillows properly. "Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep."

Palomo hums in agreement, tucking his blanket around himself with his arm as a makeshift pillow. “Sweet dreams, Bitters.”

Bitters rolls his eyes as he falls back onto his own bunk. “You’re eating breakfast with us tomorrow. You owe me your toast for this bullshit.”

It’s not that big a deal. They’re on the same side, after all.


End file.
